New Vegas Bounty Hunters
by RedHawke
Summary: Based on the mod "New Vegas Bounties". Just wanted to do a story with the LW in New Vegas, and thought I'd bring Boone into it. Possible romance later.


The Courier was a fucking liar.

"Snipers work better in pairs." He had said. "We'll take down the Legion after I deal with Benny." He had said.

But Benny was dead, and the Courier now had other priorities.

"I can take the damn Strip, Boone. If you want to throw away your life chasing down the Legion, be my guest. But this is a chance I'm not going to pass up."

Boone had been suspicious before. Constantly going around Legion camps, avoiding all confrontation with them, statements of "we're not well equipped enough, wait until till we are". The Courier never had any intention of hunting down the Legion. He had just said that to get Boone to follow him.

And that's what pissed the sniper off the most.

That's why he had left the man's little band of misfits and found himself in the Atomic Wrangler trying to get drunk. Boone took a swig of his beer, angrily smacking it down on the table as he seethed. The man in the stool next to him nervously stood up and moved down the bar, but he didn't care. Let people be scared of him. They should be. Another swig, smacked the bottle down. The Wrangler was quiet tonight, save for the people going to the back rooms to gamble, or squad of NCR soldiers at one of the tables. Boone did his best to drown them out. All he wanted to do was get drunk.

He ignored the door when it opened, and would have ignored the patron as they sat in the stool next to him, had their gear not caught his eye. Ranger armour, very well kept. Except there was no NCR logo plastered on the helm, and there were extra shoulder guards – not standard parts of Ranger gear. He watched them take their helmet off, set it down on the table. He was surprised to see that the not-Ranger was a woman, with a mess of red hair, and a long scar running from her hairline through her eyebrow. She settled into the seat, smacking some dust out of her jacket.

The Garret sister stepped up to other side of the bar, addressing the woman. "The usual?"

The not-Ranger nodded, pulling a water flask from her hip and placing it on the table beside her. "Yup. Just brought in three, so make it the good stuff."

Garret whistled and reached under the bar, pulling a large bottle of whiskey and a shot glass out. "I'll put it on your tab."

"Gotcha. Thanks." She wasted no time in pouring herself a drink and quickly knocking it back.

Boone just grumbled and went back to his beer, annoyed at the distraction. He resumed thinking of how many ways he could fuck up the Courier's day.

A half hour or so passed, and the woman was still sitting beside him. He had expected her to move by now, considered anyone else who had been dumb enough to sit next to him had done so in a couple of minutes. He didn't like her close proximity to him, and there was plenty of room down the bar for her to sit. But she just kept alternating taking a shot of whiskey and a drink from her flask. When Garret set down another beer in front of him and didn't say anything, he didn't even bother to be annoyed that he hadn't asked for one. Just opened the top and started drinking, focused on reaching his goal of getting shit faced.

He didn't even care when another was set in front of him. Then another. Just kept drinking and hating the Courier's guts with all his being.

"Shit day?"

His trigger finger twitched, and he looked at the woman to his left. Her face was somewhat red – obviously a side effect of the whiskey – and her scarred eyebrow was quirked upwards. He glared at her, still seething. She held eye contact for a moment and then recoiled a bit, holding up a hand in mock surrender.

"Guess so. Sorry for being a downer." She turned back to the bar and poured herself another drink. "You know, if you want to get plastered, would be easier to drink some hard liquor. You a whiskey man?"

He wasn't, but if it meant he got drunk sooner, he didn't care. "If you're buying."

She chuckled, and ushered Garret over to get another shot glass. As she poured him a shot, she said: "I've been buying you beers, if you haven't noticed. Wanted to see how long it was before you realized I was funneling booze your way."

She placed the glass in front of him and he quickly downed the shot. The burning sensation of the whiskey felt good in his throat. This was some quality stuff, surprisingly. "I'm not paying you back for those."

Another chuckle. "Didn't say I wanted you to. Just thought I'd let you know." She downed her own shot, and then poured them another round. He quickly swallowed the liquid, watching her do her own out of the corner of his eye. "You First Recon?"

He blinked, somewhat surprised that she'd ask that. "Ex. What's it to you?"

A shrug. "Just checking." A pause, then another round. "Do you have any experience as a spotter?"

He was getting annoyed at her questions, but if she kept giving him booze, he'd keep answering. "I'm fucking First Recon, of course I do." He emptied the glass and slid it in front of her. His vision was blurring a bit now. Whiskey had always hit him hard and fast.

She smirked, pouring again and sliding the full glass back. "You looking for work, then?"

He didn't pick up the glass this time, deciding instead to look her over a little more carefully. That's when he noticed the sniper rifle – obviously heavily modded – and the riot shotgun – no, it actually looked like an old fashioned combat shotgun – strapped to her back. And then, he saw the machine on her wrist – it was like the one the Courier had – a Pip-Boy. His eyes narrowed into slits. "Doing what?"

She shifted her weight and took a drink of water, completely nonchalant. "I need a partner. Someone with experience; who knows how to use a goddamn rifle properly and can spot for me. I'm collecting bounties from the NCR, thought you might be interested."

His hand bunched into a fist on the table. "So you're a bounty hunter?"

"Yup."

He ground his teeth, grabbing the shot glass he neglected earlier. "Do you get any contracts for Legionnaires?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Wouldn't matter if I got contracts, those bastards have it in for me."

His vision was blurry now, and from the way her eyelids drooped slightly, he could tell the rapid fire shots were sinking in for her too. " 'Have it in for you'? The fuck does that mean?"

"Bastards have contracts on _me_. I get assassination squads after me all the goddamn time." She smacked the table. "Guess I do too much target practice on their patrols for their liking. But, from the way you're looking, you'd be fine with that."

He would be fine with that. Seems tonight hadn't been a total waste. Fuck the Courier, and fuck his inaction. "I would. But if I find out you're fucking with me, I'm out."

Her words were slightly slurred, but she held her shot glass up anyways, obviously not caring how drunk she was. "Deal. We'll split the bounties in two. Should be able to take the bigger ones now that there are two of us."

Boone nodded in agreement, and they drank their shots to seal the deal.

She sputtered a bit, and dropped the glass on the table, obviously done for the night. "Whatser name, anyways?"

He slid his own shot glass away, looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Boone."

"Boone, eh?" She rubbed her temple. "Well, my last name's shit, so just refer to me as 'Lone'. That's what everyone calls me anyway."

His eyebrow rose. " 'Lone'? That's shittier than your last name?"

The woman chucked, resting her head against her helmet as it sat on the table. "Better than 'Lone Wanderer'. And don't ask. It's not a story I want to tell."

Boone simply rolled his shoulders. "Doesn't matter to me, as long as you can put a bullet between a Legionnaire's eyes."

"Don't worry, Boone. That I can definitely do."


End file.
